The New X Men: Acts of Contrition
by Goshdarn Archangel
Summary: A reimagining of the X Men’s junior team featuring Hellion, Shadowcat, X23, Mercury, Icarus, Rockslide, Blink, Nocturne, and others.  The New X Men must take down religious fanatics and conspiracies from within while facing their own demons.
1. Gap Year: Prologue

_**PROLOGUE**_

"_I tire so of hearing people say,  
_Let things take their course.  
Tomorrow is another day._  
I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.  
I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.__"—_Langston Hughes

**Xavier Institute**

**Near Salem Center, New York, U.S.A.**

**September 2008 A.D.**

"That's good." The disembodied voice of Delilah Josephine 'D.J.' Wagner echoed throughout the Danger Room. The eight mutants in the Danger Room stopped as everything else froze then vanished. "Hit the showers and meet us in the conference room in one hour." 

D.J. leaned back in the control chair and rubbed the bridge of her nose with a three-fingered hand. "_Gott in Himmel_," she muttered in German.

"What's wrong?" Joshua Guthrie asked from across the control room.

Cessily Kincaid looked at Josh. Together, the three of them was all that was left of the 'Crazy Eights' training squad that had dominated the Institute for a few short weeks. First Laura Kinney died, then Clarice Fernández was sent off to rehab, Santo Vaccarro left for unknown reasons, Clarice left rehab and never returned, and Julian Keller and Kitty Pryde left to take jobs with X-Factor investigations.

"What do you think's wrong?" Cessily asked. For the past year, they'd been getting by with stopgap replacements that lasted only a few weeks. Now they could pick whomever they wanted to fill the five vacancies permanently.

"They're not the old Crazy Eights, I'll give them that," Josh replied. "But they're not _that _horrible."

D.J. shook her head. "I miss Julian. And Kitty. And Laura. And Santo."

"What about Clarice?" Josh asked.

D.J. closed her yellow eyes and pursed her lips. She must have been remembering happier times for a loan moan escaped her lips. After a moment, she opened one of her eyes and saw both Josh and Cessily giving her odd looks. She sat up straight and coughed once.

"I miss Clarice as much as the others," D.J. covered herself.

"Sure," Cessily said, a slight smile on her face. She changed the subject, and said, "So, who should we keep."

"Megan," Josh answered quickly.

"And Vik," D.J. added.

"Figured you two would pick them." Megan Gwynn was a Welsh teenager with fairy-like wings, while Vikrama Ramamurthy was an Indian teen with green skin and a long tongue. And like D.J., he was also gay. Cessily spread her hands. "Face it, they're just younger versions of yourselves, who happen to be of opposite gender of you."

"I think you're over thinking this one, Cess," Josh said taping a finger on the table in front of him.

Cessily shrugged. "Maybe. But I like them too. So Megan and Vik?" D.J. and Josh both nodded their heads. Cessily wrote the two names on the sheet of paper. "Okay, that's two spots filled. We have six candidates for three spots. Who else?"

"Kevin, Nori, and David," Josh replied.

"Laurie, Brian, and Spencer."

"Fuck," Cessily said, putting her head in her hands. "How did I know you two would do that to me? I fucking hate both of you."


	2. Gap Year: Chapter One

_**CHAPTER ONE**_

**Apartment of Israel Bolaños**

**Guantánamo, Cuba**

**September 2008 A.D.**

"_I might be getting addicted to piercing, actually_."

Bethania Garciaparra cringed at that. She was a girl in her late teens with raven-black hair and dark eyes and skin. She seemed to have an aura of innocence around her, but Clarice Fernández knew for a fact that Bethania was anything but innocent. Bethania sat across from Clarice at a kitchen table in a dark, dirty apartment in downtown Guantánamo, Cuba.

"_You know—well, obviously—they use that gun to pierce your ears, right_?" Bethania asked and Clarice nodded her head. "_Do they use that to pierce your nipples_?"

Clarice shrugged. "_I don't fucking know, to be honest. I haven't used a piercing gun since my first ear piercings. There's only one way to go—a needle. Pretty much all of my piercings have been done with a needle. The five in each ear—except for the ones at the tip—my right eyebrow, my lip, my tongue, each one of my nipples, my bellybutton, and the one right here_," Clarice pointed to the barbell she had through the webbing between her thumb and index finger on her left hand.

"_Ow_," Bethania said. "_They can pierce _that_?"_

"_They can pierce anything,_" Clarice answered. "_I originally went in to get my clit pierced, but I _pussed _out at the last minute."_

The man lying on the couch sat up and looked over at Clarice and Bethania. Vicente Gutiérrez was a common fixture at Israel Bolaños's apartment, often passed out on the couch or the floor. He must have been awake and sober for once, because he had sat up straight when he had heard the word 'clit'.

"_Sorry for interrupting your wonderful conversation, ladies, but why would you get your clit pierced_?" Vicente asked.

Clarice shrugged. "_I don't know why. I thought it would have been cool, you know?"_

"_Wouldn't it hurt though?"_

"_That's why I didn't go through with it. I had to get something done, so I got this_," Clarice said and held up her left hand where the finger webbing had been pierced. "_Next time, next time, I'll go through with it."_

The door to the apartment opened, and Israel was standing there, his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He walked into the apartment and put the keys in his pocket as he shut the door with his foot. Israel was a tall, willowy man with a dark complexion. His brown hair was thick and curly and went in every which direction. His bear was in a similar state, and he wore ratty, old clothing that had seen better days.

He walked between the table Clarice and Bethania were sitting at and the couch Vicente was laying on. He stopped for a moment, and looked at Clarice and Bethania and then at Vicente. "_Nice to know you guys know how to get in when I'm not around_," Israel said.

"_It's a gift," _Clarice answered.

Israel nodded his head. "_Or so I've been told_," he said. He snapped his fingers in Clarice's general direction. "_That's right; you were here to see me. Come back in my room...I have it there."_

Clarice stood up and followed Israel into the small bedroom of his apartment. He stepped aside and let Clarice go in first, and he followed her in and closed the door again with his foot. He set the bag down on the floor, and as Clarice turned around, he grabbed her and brought her in for a kiss.

"Fucker!" Clarice shouted in English, pushing Israel towards the wall. Using one arm, she had him pinned against the wall. She pulled a knife from her belt and held it to Israel's throat. "_Listen here, you fucking cocksucker. If you fucking touch me one more time, and I swear to God I will cut off your cock faster than you can say Bangkok."_

Israel stared at Clarice for a moment before looking down at the knife to his throat. "_Well?"_

"_It won't happen again," _Israel stammered out.

"_Good_," Clarice said, sheathing the knife and letting Israel go. "_Now, whatcha got?"_

Israel rubbed his neck as he walked over to his closet. He rummaged through it for a few moments, and Clarice kept an eye on him ready for anything. Israel was generally a nice guy, but when he was high—which he probably was—he was pretty damn unpredictable.

"_Here_," Israel said. He set three bags on the bed. He pointed to the first bag. "_This is your pretty normal shit, except that it was made in France of all places but some fucking niggers. This second one I like to call Unicorn."  
_

"_And particular reason?"  
_

"_No. I just liked the way it sounds." _Israel paused, and had a look on his face as if he was trying to remember what he was saying. Finally, he pointed to the third and final bag. _"And I just got this fucker in this morning from Miami."_

"Pinzón," Clarice said, picking up the third bag. On it was her family's logo—a red oval with two lines coming out of the ends and then four triangles surrounding it.

"_How'd you know?"_

"_Where'd you get this?"_

Israel scratched his chin, thinking. _"Some American dude named Homer and a French chick named Serafina. I think."_

Clarice held the bag in her hand, looking at it. This was the closet she had ever been to her uncles in well over a year. She shook her head, forcing the memories out before they could rise up again. She put the bag back down on the bed.

"_How much for this Pinzón shit?"_ she asked.

"_Eighty-five_," Israel answered.

"_Bullshit," _Clarice declared.

Israel shrugged. "_Hey, if you can find a cheaper way to smuggle drugs in from Miami, I'd love to hear it."_

"_I'll take it."_


	3. Gap Year: Chapter Two

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

**Xavier Institute**

**Near Salem Center, New York, U.S.A.**

**September 2008 A.D.**

Logan walked into the cafeteria of the Xavier Institute with a tray in hand and cursed to himself. Pretty much every table in the entire cafeteria was taken up by either a student, instructor, or X-Corps member. Logan continued to stand there for a few moments, and suddenly, a table opened up.

Making his move, Logan set his tray down before anybody else could. He allowed himself a small smile as he picked up one of the several hamburgers on his tray. As he took a bite of it, Tony Lampley, the Institute's lawyer, sat down at the table. Quickly swallowing, Logan put the hamburger down.

"Honestly," Logan said. "Why me, Tony? Why?"

"I needed somebody to talk to," Tony answered. His voice seemed to drag on, and Logan wondered how anybody could stand to hear that day in and day out.

"Goddamit, Tony. I have to deal with little teenaged shits all morning, and all I want to do is sit down in the teacher's lounge and eat in peace. However, due to some stupid prank gone awry, the teacher's lounge is currently being remodeled which means I have to eat my lunch with the little shits and I don't need you to complicate matters any."

Tony went on, having ignored everything Logan had just said. "Well, you see, my wife left me nine years ago—"

"I couldn't imagine why."

"—but the divorce," Tony went on.

The people sitting at the table behind Logan left, and before Tony could say any more, Logan quickly made his way to the empty table. He once again took a bite of his hamburger, but before he could swallow it, D.J., Cessily, and Josh all sat down at the table.

"Oh come on!" Logan said, throwing his hamburger down. He looked up towards the ceiling. "Are you trying to get me to commit suicide?"

"We need help," Cessily said. Logan looked over at his shoulder and saw that Tony was still talking. He looked around the cafeteria and saw that no other tables were open. "We need to pick five new members for the team, but we only agree on Vikrama Ramamurthy and Megan Gwynn."

"I think we should take Laurie Collins, Brian Cruz, and Spencer O'Dowd," D.J. said.

"And I think we should take Kevin Ford, Nori Ashida, and David Alleyne," Josh countered.

Logan arched an eyebrow. "You are aware that I have no idea who any of those people are, right?"

"And neither of them want to compromise," Cessily ignored Logan like Tony had before.

"So that's our problem," D.J. added.

"Oh dear God," Logan said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. He looked up suddenly. "Weren't you supposed to have already discussed this with the eight already?"

"Uh," Josh said as the three of them exchanged looks.

David Alleyne threw the paper airplane across the conference room. "Do you think they forgot about us?"

"Maybe," Spencer O'Dowd answered. He looked at Brian Cruz who was sleeping with his head on the table. "Wanna steal his wallet?"

Logan allowed himself to smile in satisfaction as the three ran off to the conference room they had left the eight candidates in. "Finally," Logan said.

"Where was I?" Tony Lampley said, sitting down next to Logan.

"Of for fuck's sake!" Logan said, slamming his head against the table.

**_Fort George G. Meade _**

**_Laurel, Maryland, U.S.A. _**

**_One Year Ago _**

_"Of course he was pissed—he's Captain-fucking-America. Nobody ever takes a case off his hands unless he wants them to."_

_"He's a fucking prick."_

_"Usually I'd disagree with you, but after meeting him...he's just so goddamn arrogant and smug. Oh, look at me—I'm Captain America. Agree with me, or be branded a pinko commie bastard."_

_"Do you think he suspects anything?"_

_"Motherfucker's as naïve as a third-grader. He could never imagine his own government doing anything like this."_

_"Yeah, but he's met X-23 before. If she told him anything, then he knows."_

_"Stupid bitch doesn't realize anything."_

_"Yes she does."_

_Special Agent Matthew Messiniano and Major Bart Allen both stopped and looked at the other man sitting in the room with them—Lieutenant General William Hannibal Stryker, drumming his six-fingers on the top of the conference room table. Stryker had just returned, and his uniform was a wrinkled mess. Dark bags hung under his eyes, though there were no other indications of fatigue._

_"What?" Messiniano asked._

_"I saw X-23—or Laura Kinney as she prefers to be called now—when I was at the Institute," Stryker answered. He shook his head. "She knows what we did to her. She gave me a good stern talking to."_

_Allen arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. "So the whole thing has been compromised already?" Messiniano asked._

_"No. She only now knows that it was us, so she never would have told the Captain." Stryker shook his head, before casting a glance at Messiniano. "No. Nobody will suspect anything unless somebody completely fucks up."_

_"Understood," Messiniano said._

_"That probably means we should make our move on her as soon as possible," Allen answered._

_Stryker nodded his head, and then looked at Messiniano again. "How soon?"_

_"First I'd need to get a warrant, of course." Messiniano rolled his eyes—he didn't necessarily approve of unnecessary acts of American bureaucracy. And neither did Stryker, though the American electorate felt differently. "While that's getting done, I can round up the necessary men and equipment."_

_"Keep in mind what she did when escaping the Facility and what she did again in Boston."_

_"I will. That's why I'm going to take an NSA SORT company with me," Messiniano answered. "I just don't see why I can take a SORT squad and Kimura—that would make things a helluva lot easier."_

_"Kimura's been on assignment for the past couple of weeks. At least that's why Dr. Rice has been telling me."_

_Allen frowned. "Permission to speak frankly sir." Stryker nodded his head. "Why do you still trust him? He lied to you about X-23 still being alive. Why should you trust him on this one?"_

_"Because he still has some use," Stryker snapped. He quickly changed the subject, "Get your damn SORT company together and head out."_


	4. Gap Year: Chapter Three

_**CHAPTER THREE**_

**Perkins Restaurant**

**La Crosse, Wisconsin, U.S.A.**

**September 2008 A.D.**

Julian Keller and Kitty Pryde sat in a corner booth at a Perkins Restaurant in La Crosse, Wisconsin. Julian's hair had grown to be long in recent months and was slicked back, and he wore a dark, conservative business suit. Kitty sat across from him. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and like Julian, she wore a conservative business suit.

"Cessily called."

Julian looked up from the restaurant's menu at Kitty. "That's nice."

"That's all?" Kitty asked. "My God, Julian. We haven't seen them in months and that's all you have to say?"

"Fine," Julian said. She did have a point—Cessily had been a close friend while he had been at the Institute. But that was almost nine months ago. Cessily had taken a job as an X-Man and Julian had joined X-Factor. But it was still good to hear from old friends. He put the menu down and looked at Kitty straight in the eyes, and smiled. "Oh my God! Cessily called you? That is so totally awesome!" Julian paused for a moment and he sobered up. "Is that how you wanted me to react?"

Kitty shrugged. "A little less sarcasm, maybe."

"I try." Julian picked up his menu again. "What did she have to say?"

"They're putting a new band back together."

"For good this time?"

"For good this time," Kitty nodded her head. "She wanted to know if we wanted to join."

"Did you tell her that X-Factor pays more?" Julian asked.

"Yeah."

"And that X-Factor is much less dangerous than being in the X-Men?"

"Yeah."

"And that we have jobs with X-Factor?"

"Yeah." 

Julian smiled. "Good to know that we're thinking on the same page, here. Plus I think Madrox has us locked up for the rest of our lifetime and that he'd fight her 'til the death to hold onto us."

"Madrox called not long after that," Kitty added.

"So he's bugging our phones?"

"I don't think so. He said he'd heard that Cessily, D.J., and Josh had been given permission to reform the Crazy Eights and he was worried he'd loose us." 

"Nice to know that all of my private calls aren't being recorded and used for entertainment purposes by the Box," Julian said.

"Goddamn mutants." That single sentence hung in the air for several moments. There were only a few other people in the Perkins and they had all heard it. Julian guessed none of them were mutants, but saying something like that as loud as that person had was pretty damn brash.

And stupid, considering who Julian and Kitty were and who they worked for

"Don't," Julian warned.

"What?"

"I know what you're going to do."

Kitty frowned. "And what exactly was I going to do?"

"First off, there's that pretentious bastard Charles Xavier who says he wants to protect both us and mutants," the man continued.

"Any number of things," Julian answered. "I think right now, you'd probably pull out your gun and shoot that fucker where he sat."

"You know me too well."

"Just let it go, Kitty," Julian said. "We're not here to deal with guys like that."

"I know. But—"

"No."

The man continued in the background. "Then we got Magneto. I guarantee you every goddamn mutant is secretly cheering him on."

"But—"

"For the last time, no."

"Why?" 

"Why? Because I don't really feel like playing into every stereotype about mutants."

Kitty looked down at the table for a few moments, then looked back up. "I still don't understand."

Then the man said something he probably shouldn't of. "Goddamn Jew. The Tsars should have finished him off."

Kitty's face suddenly hardened. She was a Jew, and her grandfather, Samuel Prydeman, had barely survived the Tsars pogroms in Eastern Europe back in the Forties. Sure, Julian could convince her not to confront the guy when he went on his anti-mutant rant. But when he uttered that one anti-Semitic sentence...that crossed a line.

"That fucking tears it," Kitty said. She began to get out of the booth, but a green aura appeared around her and she was forced back into her seat.

"No. You're better than that," Julian told her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the waitress approaching. "Let's order our food and get out of here before you can do anything stupid, okay?"


	5. Gap Year: Chapter Four

_**CHAPTER FOUR**_

**Guantánamo, Cuba**

**September 2008 A.D.**

An obviously drunk U.S. serviceman approached Pilar Zambrano and Clarice as they were walking down the street of Guantánamo. "_Very nice. How much?"_ he asked in broken and very slurred Spanish.

"_Get lost_," Pilar said in Spanish.

"Go find yourself some STD-ridden jailbait whore and fuck her," Clarice added in English.

The serviceman looked at Clarice for a moment, as if trying to figure out what had just happened. Finally he decided he had better take their advice. He shrugged and walked off, leaving the two of them as alone as two people could be on one of Guantánamo's most traveled streets.

Clarice was going through a box of discount clothes while Pilar hovered a little behind her. "_So he tried to rape you?"_

"_I wouldn't say that_," Clarice answered. "_It was more like he was trying to cop a feel with me."_

"_Still. That doesn't sound right."_

"_And what would I have done? Reported him to the police and then have him rat me out for drugs and then get deported back to America because I'm an illegal? No."_

Pilar snorted. "_You're probably the only person in Cuba who not only emigrated illegally from America, but you don't want to go back."  
_

"_Let's just say I left some bad things behind."_

"_There must be something good back there."_

Clarice closed her eyes and nodded her head. "_Yeah. Somebody."_

"_That girl with black hair and green eyes whose picture you have in your purse?"_

"_Her?"_ Clarice asked. Her eyes opened and she looked at Pilar for a few moments. Pilar knew that Clarice was a lesbian and that was the only picture of her old friends that Clarice carried around sot that was the obvious choice. "_No, not her. She was just a friend."_

"_Don't you miss her?"_

Clarice looked off to her left and at the end of the block, she saw two people standing there. One was a short, unassuming man with dark hair and wire-framed glasses, while he wore and entirely black suit. The girl standing next to him was tall and thin with blonde hair.

They weren't doing anything other than just standing there. For some odd reason, they didn't stand out of place. They just stood there in the middle of the busy sidewalk, but Clarice could see them clearly. And they were looking right at her.

"_Clarice." _Clarice was jarred back to the conversation. She looked over at Pilar, who had a worried look on her face. "_What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing. I just..." _Clarice looked back towards the two, but they were gone. "_Nothing."_

"_You spaced off before you answered my question."_

"_Wait...what?" _Clarice asked. That scene had jarred her slightly, but she slowly collected her thoughts. She was still trying to figure out whether or not the Man in Black and the Blonde Girl had been real. "_Oh, yeah...I miss her. But there's no going back to see her."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because she died about a year ago."_

"_I'm sorry," _Pilar said. "_What was her name?"_

"_Laura," Clarice answered. "Laura Kinney."_

"_Wanna talk about her?"_

Clarice sighed. "_Not really." _She took a navy blue top from the pile. "_Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."_

**Robert E. Lee High School**

**Midland, Texas, U.S.A.**

**September 2008 A.D.**

Kiden Nixon set her bio books on her table and unslung her backpack and put it around the back of her chair. She stood there for several moments, and scanned the room as it was slowly filled students. Finally, she spotted who she was looking for and waved her over. Megan Kinsey quickly waved her way over to Kiden.

"Hey, Kid," Megan said, putting her own things down and sliding into the maroon-colored chair.

Kiden followed suit. "Where's Cass?"

"Sleeping," Megan answered. Cassandra Bale was Megan's cousin, and Kiden didn't know the entire story. She did know that Cass's father had left her when she was young and her mother had died a few years ago and she had bounced around foster care before finally making her way to Megan's house.

"Sleeping?" 

"Yeah. She hasn't been sleeping well lately and she's been having nightmares, so Mom decided to keep her home today," Megan replied.

"Coach ain't going to like that."

Megan shrugged. "She's going to have to live with it. Cass's nightmares are getting pretty fucking bad. She's torn up two mattresses this month."

Kiden grimaced. "Damn," she said. "With what though?"

"She couldn't of done that with her fingers, I'll tell you that," Megan answered. Her accent seemed out of place for West Texas—she was originally from Boston but had moved here last year because her father had gotten a promotion. She reached into her bag and pulled out a Gatorade bottle and took a quick drink from it before putting it back.

"Shouldn't she be seeing a sleep doctor or something like that?" Kiden asked.

"Mom's worried about the cost and wants to talk to Dad, since he's out on another one of his sales trips," Megan answered. "Plus she thinks it's just a phase."

"A phase? It's a phase when you have the same nightmare. It's a problem when you destroy two mattresses in a month because of the said nightmare." Kiden paused and furrowed her brow, thinking. Then she turned to Megan. "What are her nightmares about?"

"She says she doesn't remember," Megan replied. "But she does remember that she's always being attacked by something and that there's blood everywhere." 

Before Kiden could say anything, the bell rang and the teacher, Mr. Winchell, began. "Good morning class. Take out the worksheets that were due today. Were there any questions?"


	6. Gap Year: Chapter Five

_**CHAPTER FIVE**_

**First Church of the Revelation**

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, U.S.A.**

**September 2008 A.D.**

_5:09 P.M._

Tobias Locatelli was a big man. He was either at or just under seven-feet tall, since it seemed like every time he was measured, it was always different. He was solidly built with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His black hair was cut short with a thing goatee and mustache combination. But he wasn't all brawn—behind those grey eyes, intelligence lurked.

In short, Tobias wasn't a person to be taken lightly.

Which was why it wasn't very often that people disagreed with him.

"I don't think it's a very good idea," Tobias warned.

Roscoe Harding looked at Tobias, studying the much larger man for a moment. "And why not?"

"I don't think the Reverend would approve," Tobias said.

"This thing is giving us problems and we're fixing it. I'm sure he'd approve," Roscoe countered.

"But we'd be taking something that isn't ours and destroying it."

Roscoe rubbed his chin for several moments, and looked at the printer. The printer was your standard office printer and was used by the office staff of the First Church of the Revelation to print everything from office memos to rough drafts of speeches for Church leaders. However, it was getting up there in and was begging to act up.

"I think we'd be doing the Church a favor," Roscoe explained. "It's not like we'd just take it. We'd leave some money to buy a new one."

"Sure," Tobias said, shaking his head. "Whatever you decide to do, don't get me involved."

"Yeah, thanks for your help," Roscoe said.

"I'm here to help." Tobias looked at his watch and let out a low whistle. "Is it time to go already? Well, se ya tomorrow Roscoe."

"See ya," Roscoe replied. Tobias went back to his desk and gathered his stuff before heading out the door. The First Church of the Revelation's headquarters was in suburban Pittsburgh, and the building had only recently gone up. It employed hundreds of men and women that all worked together to spread the message of Reverend Glenn.

Tobias whistled to himself as he made his way to his car. He was a twenty-three year old graduate of Miami University (Ohio), and had been born in Cincinnati. Or that's what he told everybody. Tobias hadn't really thought about who he really was in what seemed like months—he had settled into a rut of being Tobias Robert Locatelli.

_5:41 P.M._

After thirty minutes of driving, Tobias reached his apartment building. His apartment was a cheap affair in a decent neighborhood of Pittsburgh. The First Church had offered to put him up somewhere else, but Tobias had refused. He liked where he lived and he didn't want to move.

With his hand half-way to the door-knob, Tobias stopped. Something didn't seem right. It took him a moment to figure out what was wrong—somebody was inside his apartment.

"Shit," Tobias said. What was it that Laura had once told him? No matter what, always keep a weapon at hand. _Easy for you to say_, Tobias thought to himself, suddenly wishing he had listened closer to what she had said. He could always shift, but he was standing in the middle of a public area and he didn't want his cover blown.

"Whatever," Tobias said. He reached down and opened the door, and he walked in slowly.

"Good evening, Mr. Vaccarro," a voice said.

"What?" Tobias said, looking in the direction of the voice. He saw a man sitting at the kitchen table. The man wore a conservative business suit—not unlike the one Tobias was wearing—and had thinning black hair and a cherubic face that might have once been considered handsome.

_5:43 P.M._

"Don't play games with me, Santo," the man said.

"Who are you?" Tobias said, closing the door. This man knew who he truly was—Santo Vaccarro, former student at the Xavier Institute.

"Just know me as the Salesman," the man said, standing up.

"That seems like a rather odd alias," Santo replied.

The Salesman smiled. "As does Rockslide."

"Rockslide," Tobias said. He put his things down on the kitchen counter. "That's a name I haven't heard in a longtime."

"I figured as much," the Salesman said with a smile. He motioned to one of the chairs opposite of him at the table. "Please, have a seat."

"I'd rather stand."

"Fine then."

"How did you find me?"

"It was actually rather easy, considering the resources my employer has available." 

Santo's eyes narrowed. "Who's your employer?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"You're in my apartment and you know who I am, and I'd really like to know who you are and who you work for."

"As I said, that doesn't matter right now," the Salesman said. "What does matter is your performance."

"What?"

The Salesman stood up and walked up to Santo. Though the Salesman barely came up to Santo's chest, there was still something menacing about him. "Listen here, Santo. We have something good going here, got it? If you fuck with it, there'll be hell to pay with."

Santo stared blankly at the Salesman. "What?"

_5:45 P.M._

"You know what I'm talking about," the Salesman said. He stared at Santo for several moments with his brown eyes. He snapped his fingers and the door to Santo's room opened.

_6:15 P.M._

Santo Vaccarro was sitting at his kitchen table, alone. He had a splitting headache and was hungry.

Damn he was hungry.


	7. Gap Year: Epilogue

_**EPILOGUE**_

**Kinsey Household**

**Midland, Texas, U.S.A.**

**September 2008 A.D.**

Megan Kinsey and Kiden Nixon walked into Megan's house, both tired and worn out from cross country practice. Megan put her bag on the couch and Kiden hesitantly followed suit, but not before grabbing a bottle out of her bag. Kicking off her shoes, Megan sniffed the air.

"Something smells good." Megan followed her nose into the kitchen. "Looks like somebody decided to get up and do something productive."

Cassandra Bale was standing in the kitchen; her black hair tied back in a ponytail and an apron covering a black shirt and burnt orange and white gym shorts. She had her hands in a bowl and sitting next to her was a tray of perfectly formed meatballs.

"Hey," Cass said, smiling. Megan and Kiden sat at the chairs sitting on one side of the kitchen's island that were opposite of Cass. "Mind giving me a bite of that sandwich there?"

"Why can't you do it?" Megan asked.

Cass held up her hands, each one covered in bits of ground beef and oatmeal. "Do you really want me to die of E. coli?"

"Yeah," Kiden asked.

"Bitch," Cass said.

"Here," Megan said, picking up the sandwich. She picked up the sandwich and held it out for Cass to take a bite.

Kiden arched an eyebrow. "That's kinda hot." Megan and Cass both looked at her and Kiden shrugged. "What? A straight girl can't make comments like that without getting odd looks?"

"No," Megan and Kiden answered at the same time.

Megan put the sandwich back down. "So spaghetti?"

"Yeah," Cass answered, getting back to making the meatballs. Megan got up and walked over to the fridge. She opened it and looked inside. "Debbie should be home soon with the spaghetti."

Kiden looked blankly at Cass. "You're making spaghetti, but don't have the noodles?"

"Hey, don't judge me," Cass defended herself. "I've been busy all day making brownies and cookies."

"Why?"

Cass shrugged. "Because I was hungry."

"Damn, girl," Kiden said. "I wish I had your metabolism."

"Mom doesn't," Megan said, closing the refrigerator door with a pop can in her hand. "I swear to God that most of our food budget is spent on Cass."

"I'm a hungry girl."

"You're just a pig who happens to not gain any weight at all," Megan replied. She sat back down in her chair. "When's Dad coming home?"

Cass shrugged as she finished another meatball. Mr. Kinsey—as he was known—was a traveling salesman for Gervais & Scott Office Supplies Inc., so he was gone a lot. Debbie Kinsey worked for a local hospital as a nurse and sometimes worked odd hours, which mean that Cass and Megan were home alone at times.

"He called and said he was being held up in New York or something and that he'd be home as soon as possible."

"How soon is possible?"

"He didn't know," Cass answered. "Mr. Kinsey said he could either be home as soon as tomorrow or as late as the Tuesday after next Tuesday."

Despite the news, Megan couldn't help but smile. "Mr. Kinsey? Why don't you call him by his first name—"

"I'm home!" Debbie Kinsey called, cutting off Megan. She walked into the kitchen, still wearing her dark green hospital scrubs. She held a grocery bag in each hand and put them on the counter. "How was school today." 

"Fine," Megan and Kiden answered at the same time.

"Feeling okay Cass?" Debbie asked.

"Good as new," Cass answered, smiling.

"That's nice to here," Debbie said. She put her arm on Cass's left shoulder.

From Cass's elbow on down, her arm was covered in scars. X-shaped scars.


End file.
